Rowan
by magdalenatan
Summary: Follows Rowan Hawke's story from fleeing Lothering to her rise to power and eventual downfall in Kirkwall. Mature themes, sexual situations, language, humor, violence This is a WIP
1. Chapter 1: Lothering

1. Lothering

Rowan prepares with Leandra and Bethany to flee the darkspawn and is wakened in the night by an injured Carver.

"I found another of Father's staves," Leandra Hawke called from the loft. Her head and shoulders appeared over the edge. She brandished a dark, burled walnut branch that glowed with a matte, satin-textured lustre that had nothing to do with the use-polished texture of its wood.

Her daughter Rowan shook her head. A lock of thick black hair fell in her eye, instantly transferring a cobweb directly to the cornea. The irritation and clinginess inspired a minor interpretive dance accompanied by an a capella rendition of "Maker! Get it off me! Aaaaaaaaah!" Peaches the mabari war dog decided to partner Rowan by barking and spinning in circles. If he wasn't the size of a fully grown sow his antics would be simply amusing. As it was they presented a physical hazard in the cramped room.

The Hawke family wasn't doing badly. Much of the money they'd been able to save over the years had gone to periodic unplanned evacuations as the girls' talents began to manifest. After Rowan, Bethany had been mild as a lamb, but Rowan had been a terror. She was zapping her mother with small electric shocks by age 4 and there was nothing Leandra could do about it but discipline her the way she would for breaking any other rule and wait for Malcolm to speak to her. He had been so patient. When she was expecting Rowan, Leandra and Malcolm had talked about the possibility that his magic would be passed to his children. Leandra had said she didn't care. And she really hadn't. If her child was born with magic it would mean a hardship for the family. Either the Hawke family would spend their lives running from the circle and its templars or it would be divided forever. Since nothing was certain, Malcolm and she decided to wait it out. Any child could be born simple or with a twisted leg and that was a hardship too. All families face different challenges. The only thing Malcolm and Leandra cared about was their family and they were determined to stay together.

The cottage was small but larger than most in town. The main floor was a single room with a large central table, benches, a hanging oil lamp, a couple of chairs and the usual iron mongery by the hearth, a sink, a set of shelves, a few trunks and the inevitable dog bed. There was a loft over half the room where the family slept. The girls and Carver had shared one of its two tiny rooms and Leandra and Malcolm had claimed the other. Rowan's room held a triple bunk bed, a small table with a lamp, and three small chests, one for each child. Carver had brought most of his possessions to Ostagar when he left to join Cailan's army but the chest was too awkward to carry on foot.

Leandra waited patiently for the theatrics to run their course. She was eventually rewarded by a slightly underwhelmed, "Make a pile. Bethany and I can go through it and we'll decide what we can save."

"You can use whatever staff you want," Bethany contributed from the depths of the trunk she was excavating. "Father made mine and I'm taking it. Mother, do we really need Father's dress robes?"

Methodically, the pile in the middle of the room continued to grow. Periodically Rowan would stop hunting for priceless treasures amidst the eaves and under floorboards and examine the items to be salvaged. Most of the items she removed with varying degrees of reluctance and put in a corner to be added later if there was extra room on the cart. Some were replaced almost immediately. Once in a while a faint blue-white glow would indicate that she was examining an object.

The light was beginning to fade. If this had been a normal year, Rowan would be trudging in from the field, bone-tired after spending the day planting. Even today the two goats needed to be milked and the ducks rounded up. Rowan looked out the window at the elevated Imperial Highway. Raised voices drifted through the broken pane of the window.

"But I don't have any money to…" a man with a high-pitched voice began.

A thickly-articulated, slightly slurred voice interrupted, "Then you don't get in. Them's the rules."

Leandra spoke, "Miriam said she was planning to take the refugees to Redcliffe. I hope she has enough coin to get past the roadblock."

"Hmph," Rowan snorted. "If the templars are so dedicated to public safety they should do something about the real threats and go after those highwaymen."

Bethany had to say something. "Highwaymen can't destroy the village in a firestorm if they don't extort enough money," she declared. Rowan's jaw dropped at the uncharacteristic vehemence. Bethany, the heart and soul of congeniality, had actually sounded bitter.

"Don't tell me you believe that sanctimonious bullshit the chantry feeds you?" Rowan demanded, her brow descending darkly. "Do you really think mages are so immoral that they will destroy everything to get what they want unless the templars are there to rein them in? Or is it that chestnut about magic being a curse from the Maker?"

Bethany attempted to stammer an apology but Rowan was on a roll. "You've seen with your own eyes how Father worked himself to death to keep us away from templars and away from the circle. If magic is a curse it's because the Chantry and its templars have made it one, not the Maker."

Leandra looked her daughters. Bethany was beautiful with large, warm brown eyes, delicate features and a petite, plump figure, much like Leandra herself. Her warm, self-effacing personality and ready congeniality ensured a pleasant future once the blight was over. She hated using magic anyway so as far as a potential suitor was concerned, she was just the pretty daughter of a prosperous farmer. She would be no trouble to place once they had settled in again. Moving had become such a way of life for Leandra that the Blight was no more threatening than a rumor that Rowan had been seen zapping crows in a field by a farmhand coming home from the tavern.

Yes, Rowan would be trickier to settle in, as she always had been. Before, Malcolm and Carver had always been able to distract her and keep her away from most of the trouble her impulsive nature got her into. Now Malcolm was gone and who knew when Carver would be coming back. It wasn't just Rowan's attitude about being a mage that caused trouble, although it caused enough. Rowan didn't understand what she risked every time she sent a spark to chase off a crow. Malcolm would have pointed out that a rock would have worked as well and Carver would have made the same point by aiming the rock at her shins. What Rowan risked was being branded an apostate and sentenced to lifetime of imprisonment at best. All Rowan knew was her own sheltered experience and the resentment that shelter brought out.

Leandra shook her head. Rowan's looks were not going to make it any easier, again. Rowan took after Malcolm, as did Carver. Where Bethany's eyes were soft, honey brown, Rowan's were such a dark blue as to appear nearly violet. Her dark brows were heavy and set low, giving her an appearance Leandra thought of as intense but others might consider intimidating. Like the rest of her, her face was lean and angular and there was a set to her jaw that discouraged people from getting to know her. This was probably for the best, Leandra thought, though she hoped that this time Rowan would be able to meet someone outside the family without threatening her own safety. Leandra sighed as she thought how much more attractive chiseled features looked on Carver and Malcolm than they did on poor Rowan. She sighed again.

And the dog. Mabari have unusually long lifespans for such a large breed and this meant Peaches would have to figure into Rowan's prospects as well. While gaining the trust of a mabari might be a mark of character, it drew attention. Peaches was nothing if not loyal, and a suitor would have to be a brave man indeed to brave the easy wrath of an apostate with a devoted war dog. Leandra sighed, wishing she could find a way to tell her about her concerns for her future happiness. Life with an apostate was difficult enough without that person having a temper and a hound that might tear out a throat over an unexpected embrace. She sighed again, remembering how they were forced to relocate after Malcolm used magic to catch Rowan as she fell out of the chantry belltower. That had drawn enough attention and Peaches wasn't even born yet.

Leandra sighed. Why, in the Maker's name, did Rowan have to name the dog Peaches? Two summers ago, Rowan had stolen away and made it into the bann's manor. She was supposed to have been going to market and Carver was supposed to have gone with her to keep an eye on things but it seemed that they had come to an agreement that Carver was to give Rowan time unsupervised and Rowan was to allow the same. Carver used his time to court one of the local girls while Rowan had slipped through a side door of the manor and found herself hip-deep in the mabari kennel at exactly the wrong moment. A pup had found itself tangled in some cord that had been used to dangle a piece of meat off the floor and was suffocating. Rowan freed the pup and made a friend for life, the kind that won't go to the master it was supposed to be given to. The furor that caused had eventually made its way into the village by way of Old Barlin's gossip chain, and from there to Carver. He had come to Leandra and confessed on Rowan's behalf that Rowan had interfered with the pup.

With yet another sigh, Leandra remembered Rowan scorning the dress Leandra had mended and pressed just for the occasion, choosing her hunting leathers instead. She had said that if she was going to be tried for a crime that amounted to poaching she would look like a poacher. Leandra had suspected at the time that Rowan didn't wear the dress because she didn't care for the color pink. Rowan had cooked up some ridiculous story about hearing the pup's strangled barking through the wall. She honestly didn't know the way a mabari imprinted and said so. What she should have thought twice about saying was that she would have saved it anyway. For whatever reason, though, the bann had just laughed and told her she'd won her prize and to be off. Now Rowan had a loyal wardog named Peaches. Leandra had asked about the name. Carver had turned crimson and Rowan had said that everyone got something at the market that day. Leandra had idly wondered why peaches were in the market so early, but she was a little grateful that rhubarb was no longer in season. Sighing and realizing that her mind was wandering, Leandra turned back to the task at hand.

"If you stand next to the mill when you do that, we can probably get another bag of flour to take with us," Rowan cut into her thoughts. She had seen the expression on her mother's face and guessed, not entirely incorrectly, that Leandra was once again becoming overwhelmed by having to uproot the family again.

"How will Carver know where to find us?" Leandra asked, thinking quickly to find anything else to worry about. It didn't do Rowan any good to know what Leandra was thinking.

Rowan opened her mouth to speak then closed it. She had meant to make a snarky comment about leaving a note for the darkspawn so they could tell him where to look. The look on her mother's face erased the thought before it got to her lips. "We'll have to look for him once we're safe. We've prepared as much as we can and I don't think waiting around is going to make getting away any easier. The sky is blacker to the south than it is to the east and the sun's just about down," Rowan looked for confirmation from Bethany.

"Let's take care of the animals and call it a night. Tomorrow, we load up the wagon and leave for Denerim." Rowan's words elicited a gasp from Leandra.

"We can wait one more day," Leandra began. "We could send word. The king's camp is only two valleys over."

Rowan just shook her head. They would be having this discussion again in the morning. No sense having it twice. They went about their routines, Leandra preparing the evening meal while defiantly reserving a few perishable items to prepare the next day while they were still there, and the girls tending to the livestock in the knowledge that it would most likely be the last time they did it. Tomorrow morning Bethany would bring the goats and ducks to town and give them to Miriam so that the remaining refugees could benefit from milk and eggs. Rowan would load the cart while Leandra clucked and pecked around the house and yard like a hen.

That evening, the future didn't look pleasant, but at least the preparations for it were familiar. Eventually, everything that was going to be done was done and Leandra and the girls made their way up to the loft and to bed. In the half-hour between the morning birds waking up and the first rays of sunlight breaking the horizon, a thump and metallic crash outside the oaken door sent Peaches into a frenzy of barking and jumping in circles. He couldn't climb the ladder into the loft so he merely ran into it repeatedly, barking excitedly. Peaches' head-butts had stranded Rowan in the loft once already so the top was tied fast to the railing. Clutching her blanket, she quietly cracked open the shutters by the door and peered through the gap. No one was visible, until she looked down.


	2. Chapter 2: Carver

2. Carver

Rowan heals Carver after he arrives injured on the doorstep then leads the family away from the horde.

Collapsed on the sill was a man wearing the remnants of armor. A greatsword rested on his back as he sprawled prone on the doorstep, as if he had crawled to the door and collapsed as he tried to pound on it. Rowan gasped and flung open the door, realizing as she did so that she didn't know what a darkspawn even looked like. As she bent down to examine the stricken figure, it occurred to her that as wounded as whatever it was was, it wasn't a threat.

Helmetless, the thick black hair was caked and matted with congealed blood. The skin looked human. Dark and blood made identification of features impossible but Rowan could see enough to know she looked at a man not a monster. He was breathing. She rolled him onto his side and he gasped in pain as consciousness returned.

Piercingly ice-blue eyes opened wide.

"Figures it would be you. Have you ever heard the word 'gentle?'" He swallowed as a small amount of blood dribbled out of his mouth, then a spasm sent him shivering into unconsciousness again.

"Mother!" Rowan called, "It's Carver! He's hurt and we need to get him in." Rowan closed her eyes and , using her body to block view from the road, funneled enough mana into Carver to stabilize his heartbeat and keep him breathing until he could be moved to the table.

Leandra and Bethany appeared and Carver's large frame was half-dragged up onto the large table in the center of the room. Leandra bent to stoking up the fire and lighting the oil lamp while Bethany assisted Rowan in stripping off Carver's armor. Twice, Rowan signalled Bethany to stop moving while she repaired something. Twice, Bethany and Leandra froze in place, holding their breath while Rowan extended her awareness to fix what sword, mace and axe had broken.

Finally, Carver's breathing eased into a regular rhythm and the lines of pain began to recede from his face. To her surprise, Rowan looked up to see that the sun had not yet fully risen. What had seemed to take hours of delicate, dangerous work had really only spanned the space of a quarter hour. The kettle hadn't even come to a boil. There wasn't enough tea in Ferelden to make up for the sleep Rowan felt like she'd lost.

Carver's eyes snapped open again. "We need to get out - now!" he shouted, trying to throw off the blanket Rowan had tossed on him to prevent shock. He nearly fainted again as he tried to sit up too fast but held on and got the rest of it out.

"The darkspawn," he panted. "I'm just ahead of them. Cailan's dead. Everyone's dead. I'd have been dead too if I didn't look like a corpse already. We need to move." He didn't need to repeat himself. His armor was past repair so an old tunic, vest and breeches were found. The fit was a bit tight but Carver would have to accept it or go without.

Each grabbed objects at random from the essentials pile. There was no time for a cart. Leandra did take the time to swing the kettle off the fire and bank the flames while Bethany took the time to look around the cottage again. A chill ran down Rowan's spine as Bethany spoke, "I don't think any of us will ever see this house again."

On that light note, Rowan called Peaches and the family began it's hurried progress to the highway that led to Denerim. While they were still in sight of the cottage, Bethany stopped with a look of horror on her face.

"The animals," she gasped. "We can't leave them for the darkspawn."

"We still have time to take them to Lothering," Leandra began, even though even she knew they did not.

"We ought to slit their throats. Better that than go to the darkspawn's bellies," Carver opined, drawing a fierce glower from Bethany.

Rowan felt the need for only one opponent at a time and the only opponent she was prepared to deal with was darkspawn. "We don't have time to take them to Lothering and I'm not going to waste it cutting their throats either. We open the pens and give them a chance to run. If they do, maybe someone will find them. If they don't, it's better them than us." She sprinted back to put her words into action. As she ran back, the look of horror on her family's faces told her that she had achieved unity by making everyone think she was heartless. Time and place, she reminded herself as they once again began to jog away from their home.

Peaches suddenly hunkered down and began a growl low in his throat. Rowan called him to heel, but he was off around the nearest boulder before she could finish the command. Running to see the threat, she saw her hound snarling and biting at the arms and legs of a darkspawn, She'd find out later that it was a hurlock but right now, all she knew was that it was a mockery of life. Its face was a skull, polluted flesh stretched across misshapen bones. Its lifeless eyes transfixed and horrified while sharpened teeth went for the throat. Peaches was winning, but Rowan didn't want to have to do any more healing. With a crack, she brought her staff down on the arm that was outstretched to hold off Peaches. Wardog and mage lunged and the hurlock became a broken mass of tangled limbs.

"Sister, no!" cried Bethany as Carver dropped his pack and scrambled for his sword.

"There's more!" he managed as he launched himself shoulder first into another hurlock that was closing on Rowan from behind. Peaches lept on another as darkspawn seemed to materialize out of the air itself. Rowan staggered in surprise then saw one crawling out of a rock crevice right next to Bethany.

A searing burst of flame left the end of Rowan's staff and engulfed the hurlock in flames. Its cracked and torn leather armor blossomed into flame as well, causing it to writhe on the ground as its screams drew more of its kind. Bethany struck a final blow with her staff but the damage had been done and even more darkspawn appeared.

"No spells," Bethany gasped. "If someone sees-"

"The darkspawn will kill them too," Rowan assured her. "We have to survive if it's gonna matter." Rowan suited action to words by launching a branched lightning bolt at the group that was attacking Carver.

Bethany hung back, guarding Leandra and swatting anything that got through the wall of Carver and Peaches. Rowan sniped from cover, freezing one that was going to overpower Carver then sending a bolt of pure fire through another that was pressuring Peaches. Rowan spared a look for Leandra and saw she was huddled against a rock with Bethany standing over her. That taken care of, then.

And, after a deceptively short amount of time, the battle was over. Rowan wasn't thrilled by the idea of touching the hideous bodies to loot for valuables. What would be valuable to a darkspawn, anyway? Just as she was straightening up after making sure the last hurlock was dead, her eyes fell on a pile of discarded brown material beside the road. Closer inspection revealed it to be the body of the darkspawn's previous victim. His pack contained a poultice and he had an amulet of Andraste that Rowan perversely insisted would bring Carver better luck than it did its previous owner.

Time remained a consideration, and after an all-too-brief rest it was time to move again. They were at a crossroads and needed to make a decision. Denerim, Rowan's intended destination, was to the northeast, two solid days' travel away. Redcliffe, to the west could be reached within little more than a day, but that would make it easier for the darkspawn fo find as well.

Carver and Bethany fell to bickering. They were twins. It was what they did. As Leandra's patience ran out, two running figures caught Rowan's attention. They were coming from the east. As they drew closer, it became apparent that the man was a templar. In the rationality that comes from finding one's brother half-dead on the doorstep, spending all one's vital energy healing him, running and fighting for one's life, Rowan came to the perfectly logical conclusion that she and Bethany were being hunted. Before they had even drawn abreast of the Hawkes on the road, Rowan was blocking the templar with her staff.

The woman with the templar lunged at Rowan and the templar held her back. Recovering, he gasped out, "'Spawn…."

...and the battle was on again. Rowan resolved to take Bethany's advice and hold back on spells this time, but once again she made the wrong decision. The templar had barely had a single swing at a darkspawn before a blind rush sent him, bleeding, to the ground. His own sword, swung more in desperation than intent, caught the hurlock in the side and they fell together in a mass of blood. The woman picked up the fallen templar's sword and shield and threw herself onto the stunned darkspawn. With savage fury, she pinned it to the ground and severed its head as neatly as if she were cleaving a melon in two. Carver, not to be outdone, bellowed a challenge to any darkspawn left standing. Between them, the two warriors swept aside the darkspawn that remained.

Rowan lowered herself to a rock and looked at the road. There were eight darkspawn bodies. Peaches was sniffing one of them. Rowan was about to call the mabari off its questionable feast, but apparently Peaches was smart enough to leave it alone on his own. The templar had collapsed.

Oh Maker, Rowan thought. Now he's going to die and they're going to blame me. She rose and went over to where the templar was lying and squatted beside him to see if he needed healing. Her talents were limited to repairing physical structures. She could knit bone and flesh but she knew nothing of corruption.

"Apostate, keep away," rasped the templar, his lips tinged blue and his breath coming in shallow gasps. The woman, a redhead, put a restraining hand on his arm. "The intent of the darkspawn is clear. The intent of an apostate is never known. The order dictates…"

"Wesley…" the woman interrupted.

"The order…" Rowan gave him credit for determination.

"Wesley, we're safe now. The Maker understands." After a look passed between the man and the woman, she spoke again. "My name is Aveline Vallen and this is my husband Ser Wesley. We can hate each other once we're away from the horde."

After a few hastily thought out and ultimately pointless questions, Rowan decided to declare her position on the matter. "Just as long as you know I'm watching you, templar."

The templar bristled. "Conditions I'm sure we both expect." It seemed a temporary truce had been struck.


End file.
